How Had It Come To This
by BRNZ
Summary: Crowley has a massive emotional breakdown when they get back to his flat after the Nonpocalypse, and Aziraphale is there to hold it together while having a fundamental existential crisis of his own. Features hot showers, cool sheets, a broken demon and an angel who will do anything to make him feel safe. Or What happens when you might only have one last night together?
1. Chapter 1

They got most of the way to London on the bus before the shakes started. Crowley gritted his teeth for as long as he could but given the angel was sitting plastered up against him in the god awful uncomfortable seat, there was no way he couldn't feel it.

A perfectly manicured hand reached out to rest palm up on his thigh open in invitation, and the angel murmured "Hold on as tight as you need to, dear boy" and heaven help him if he didn't reach out and do exactly that. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, interlaced his fingers with Aziraphales, and just tried to 'breathe'.

It was enough to steady him, so that he didn't realise the bus had stopped, until a gentle tugging on their joined hands roused him "Time to go, dear boy, this is our stop". Staggering and graceless, they departed the bus, and headed to the lobby of his apartment building. He kept a near death grip on the hand still entwined in his, and the angel was a solid steadying presence as they got the lift to the 6th floor.

The door opened of its own accord (the doors in his flat were wont to do that, without him noticing when he was in a mood. He was often in a mood) and he staggered in and leaned against the ornate back of his …. throne. Aziraphale carefully extracted his fingers from their grasp and with great care and gentleness, embraced him in a quiet hug.

Crowley closed his eyes and allowed the comfort for not nearly long enough, but he was going to come apart very very messily, and soon and choked out "Too much….I can't". With a murmured "Of course" the angel released him and looked briefly around before asking "Do you happen to have a shower in this temple to modern brutalism? The kind that's big enough to have an orgy in with all the fancy jet thingys and rain whatsits and endless hot water?"  
The attempt at humour steadied him enough to reply with a ghost of his usual snark "Actually I do, it came with the place" and gestured through the opposite door "Through there, on the left" and just like that, he was being quietly bustled in that direction.

The shower was everything that was promised, and the angel paused for a moment, stymied by the choice of jets, nozzles, dials and handles. Crowley sighed and the two big rain makers turned on. The angel smiled a quick thankyou before tugging off his jacket and waistcoat, rolling up his sleeves and removing his bow tie and turned to the barely upright demon.

"Right then, lets get your clothes off my dear, while they could do with a wash (the pervasive smell of hellfire had saturated all the way down to his hair and skin and it made him shudder) I don't think a shower is the best option for silk".

Crowley didn't know whether to laugh or cry, they had saved the world, outed themselves and their own private rebellion to both Heaven and Hell, all bets were completely off, and the one thing he wanted most in the world was finally happening. His angel was undressing him, slowly and carefully by hand, and he was about to shatter into tiny pieces at the love and care Aziraphale was taking with him.

But the demon dug his heels in at the doorway of the shower, even though his legs were threatening to give way underneath him, he gritted his teeth and turned back to the now somewhat distressed angel "Need you" he grated out "Please, angel?".

With a look that almost glittered like tears, the blond angel waved all his clothing away, and stepped wordlessly under the steaming hot rain of water, and into the demons fierce trembling embrace. The trembling turned into shaking so bad Aziraphale backed up against a wall, and with a hoarse animal sound no human throat should be capable of the demon collapsed against him, until the pair of them were sprawled on the floor, with the demon inelegantly strewn across his lap.

They lay there for what seemed like hours, while the water did, in fact, appear to be endlessly hot, and he held, stroked and rocked while Crowley sobbed the most agonising heartwrenching cries. As he pressed his cheek to the sleek dark head and murmured soothing words, the angel silently cried some tears of his own, not for himself, but at the pain of his best and most dearest friend.

How had it come to this?

While he held as many of the broken pieces of Crowley in his arms as he could reach, the angel had a quiet and very fierce existential crisis of his own. Something very fundamental in his world view had been realigned by the events of the past days, and right now, he was very fucking pissed off at a great deal of the Universe.

Eventually the storm of emotion passed, and they claimed shakily to their feet. When Crowley brokenly started to stammer out an apology, Aziraphale replied "None of that my dearest, none of that. Its been a stressful day for all of us."

Aziraphale made a long arm, grabbed a plastic bottle of a shelf that hadn't been there a moment before, squirted a generous handful of shampoo into one hand and murmured "Do bend down so I can reach dearest" and proceed to slowly wash every inch of his demon, starting with a good hair wash and scalp massage. The shower filled with the scent of sandalwood, leather and something spicy, and as he worked, Crowley calmed under the soothing hands. Finally when the water was turned off, some very large fluffy thirsty bath towels were put to use (but the hair was miracled dry).

Crowley, wrung out with emotional exhaustion, the hot shower having sapped the last of the energy out of him, didn't even comment when the angel asked quietly "Where do we find the bedroom, my dearest?". He simply staggered out the door, discarding wet towels on the floor and across the stone corridor to his bedroom.

Bleak and minimalist in style like the rest of the flat but the fabrics and colours were luxurious, inviting. Plush burgundy carpet on the floor, and walls several shades darker, the bed was covered in black satin sheets, and a shimmering grey silk comforter. Naked, Crowley slid gratefully between the cool sheets, and moved over and held the covers open in silent invitation to the angel standing in the doorway.

They stared at each other for a very long moment, and it felt like the Universe held its breath until the angel made a rather cryptic expression and said "Of course, dearest. Do you mind if I?" he dressed himself in a pair of surprisingly modern sleeping pants and climbed into bed next to the waiting demon.

Skin to skin they held each other, too exhausted to do anything other than just exist in that moment, and drifted off to sleep together.


	2. Chapter 2

Crowley slowly returned to consciousness, partly because there were some elegantly manicured fingers giving him a scalp massage as they worked their way through the short hair over the nape of his neck. He shivered as they hit a sensitive nerve ending and the hand sadly withdrew, and he bit back a moan of resentment.

There is no comfort or pleasure to be had in the touch of others in Hell.

Blearily he rolled over, scrubbing a hand across his face, sleep had been good but not nearly enough and now he was awake, the sound track of the urgently screaming voices in his head returned _run! run far! run as fast as you can, because they are going to come for you demon, and going make you pay_

"Wh'timesit?" he muttered rather incoherently, but the angel lying next to him in the bed had several millenia practice decoding various Crowleyisms and replied "A little after midnight", he paused "Dear boy, how are you feeling?"

The windowless room was as dark as a tomb, but both had excellent night vision. The angel was sitting half propped up on pillows, and the demon had been plastered to his side, one arm cuddled across the angelic form. Crowley stretched and with a sigh, wriggled up a bit and then said tetchily "Lie down angel, can't sprawl across you at that angle" and with a click he removed most of the pillows that were propping the angel up, who collapsed with a surprised Humpf . He subsided as the demon wriggled his way under one arm, to rest his head on the angels shoulder, and casually sling an arm across his chest, and tangle an lanky leg in between the angels silk clad legs.

With a deep sigh Crowley murmured " Mmmm better now" and nuzzled briefly into the angels shoulder and plaintively stated "Hair stroking things nice too". That got him an amused angelic snort and a gentle kiss on the forehead, but the fingers resumed their stroking up higher, behind his ear, and he relaxed bonelessly into it. For many long minutes they lay like that and the voices in his head were blissfully quiet, but eventually Aziraphale stirred "Crowley, we need to talk, about….whats going to happen. About what we do" and his voice was as solemn and serious as the demon had ever heard it.

With a heartfelt "Fuck it" he bought back the huge pillows for them both, disentangled himself from the angel and the two of them sat up. They had talked for a long while on the bus ride home about what the prophecy on the scrap of paper meant and what they should do about it, but no obvious answer had come to light. Another click lit a couple of the tall stacks of white candles on either side of the bed, to bathe the room in a warm glow.

He looked at Aziraphale and said restlessly "I know, I know, clocks ticking….but…" shrugging in that impossible gallic way of his "We know they are going to come for us" and the angel nodded "And we are pretty sure its going to be sooner rather than later" he quirked an eyebrow at the angel and his tone was especially sardonic "They are going to want to keep what we did VERY quiet. If it got out….."

Aziraphale nodded, hands clenching anxiously at the black satin sheet over his lap the most outward sign of his distress "It would set a very bad example, all round I expect"

"Noooo" drawled the demon "An angel and a demon consorting to stop Armageddon?" He waved a careless hand in the air "God and the Devil Himself would forbid it personally I expect" It stung a little to use the blessed words, but he was *done* following the rules, and from the slight widening of the angels eyes at the open blasphemy but no other protests, he rather thought he wasn't the only one.

"Besides" he snarled as memory returned "They killed my best friend, burned down his bookshop and destroyed my Bentley" and the room echoed a little at the menace in his tone "I want my fucking chance at payback".

Aziraphale listening along, jerked a little as the words registered with him and went quietly "Oh Oh! yes, that's a stressful day for everyone concerned." He smiled weakly and glanced sideways at the demon and ventured hesitantly "I thought you loved that car more than anything in the world?"

Crowley sighed "I do, I did" then he saw how carefully the angel *wasn't* looking at him and sighed again before making a long arm and pulling the angel into his embrace and saying exasperatedly "I loved that car for over 90 years, but you, you ineffable idiot?" and he smiled down at the trembling angel "You, I have loved for thousands of years…."

"Oh my dearest…"

It didn't matter who kissed who first, who reached out one careful hand, who stroked, licked, who first moaned, who cried out, who demanded 'more'.

They loved each other with the desperate tenderness of the recently reprieved, and the frantic urgency of the freshly condemned. At this time, in this place they were both, and even though they could both feel the minutes trickling through their fingers, this NOW was everything that had ever mattered.

There was nothing holy about what the two of them were doing to each other in that huge black bed under the light of the candles, but there was a spirituality in it, a sense of claiming, a silent pledge and a promise. In its own way, it was a blessing.

****************************************************************

Without too much difficulty Aziraphale talked Crowley into the shower again, and they took full advantage of the opportunity , but the voice was louder in the back of the demons head now, and he suspected that the angel had a similar one in his, so they dressed and repaired to the kitchen for a fortifying hot brew (or maybe a brandy, he hadn't decided).

While the angel faffed around in the kitchen, muttering darkly under his breath about lack of proper tea kettles, Crowley tucked his favourite mug under the ruinously expensive coffee machine, waited til it filled to the brim with an absolutely perfect brew (he never needed to press any buttons, the machine understood what was required of it…) and he idly wandered the apartment in his bare feet.

He got to the main room and memory crashed down on him and he stared at the spot on the floor where he had dissolved Ligur and there was *nothing* there. Putting the coffee cup on the granite slab table top, he swung the Mona Lisa aside, opened up the safe, and yes the thermos and all his protective gear was still there.

Puzzled he called out "Aziraphale?" and waited for the angel to follow the sound of his voice and gestured "Did you clean up the mess?"  
Confused the angel looked up at him "What mess?"  
"When we came in last night, was there a mess on the floor in the doorway?"  
The angel thought for a long moment "No I don't remember, why?"  
"This is where I tipped Holy Water on Ligur"  
"Oh. Well done you" and he wandered off to his tea making and Crowley sighed. The angel was hopeless in the mornings until he had at least one cup of tea inside him.

Right, time to tip some brandy into his coffee and come up with some desperately fiendish plan to save the both of them

Crowley didn't have guests to his flat and didn't have a casual dining area, as such and they were both too keyed up to sit and relax anyway, so he perched himself on the corner of the kitchen bench and the angel paced a bit, while discussed stuttered and sparked between them.  
The mood was getting bleaker as the night wore on, it was only a few hours til dawn and it was looking hopeless until Aziraphale stopped his pacing for a long moment, went to say something, stopped again, stuttered and then helplessly came to a stop.

Crowley yawned and tipped himself more vaguely upright and motioned "Spit it out angel"  
He was delighted to see his angel blush and wondered what in heavens name he was thinking, although he had plenty of ideas as to what might have caused the blush, he couldn't quite see the relevance to their situation.

"Well….." said the angel carefully "You said something…" he looked bashfully up at the demon and away again "Before, when we were ….."  
"Fucking, I think the term for it is"  
"Well yes I *know* that, Crowley" and he glared at the demon cheerfully leering at him and waved a hand to shush him  
"You said something and its given me a bit of an idea…"  
Oh god he hated it when the angel trailed off on the end of a sentence like that  
"Yes yes, what did I say?"  
Aziraphale looked at him reproachfully "Are you *going* to make me say it?"  
Crowley laughed "Its filth isn't it" laughed again "what in heavens name did I say?" he pursed his lips and tilted his head at the still blushing angel "Got no idea why you are blushing, not with what you did with that mouth"  
He struck a nerve there as the angel straightened, turned and walked towards him until they were face to face, nearly touching and they stared for a long moment, before Aziraphale opened his mouth, and in a voice that sounded so very like Crowleys it was eerie, said in tones of breathless want

_"I want you to fuck me angel, I want you to fill me so hard I forget where you start and I end. Fuck me til I forget who I am, til I forget everything"_

The air vibrated between them and the angel stepped away again and Crowley breathed out a breath he didn't know he was holding "Well. That was a thing"

"Do you see?" queried the angel?

Shaking his head to clear the memories the words had raised, and settling the hairs on the back of his neck at the uncanny accuracy of the mimicry, he shrugged, replying

"Do I see what?". Aziraphale reached out and grabbed his hand and said "Til I forget where you start and I end" and the angel waited.

Abruptly it clicked and offered a first glimmering of hope to them both. Crowley looked at their joined hands "Can we even do that?"  
Aziraphale shrugged in his formal way but the look on his face was exceedingly grim when he replied "What have we got to lose?"

*******************************************************************************

The experiment didn't, thankfully, destroy both of them in the exchange, and the rest of the night was spent teaching each other about who they were likely to encounter, and memorise names and descriptions.

Much hilarity ensued as the angel tried to walk in the same loose limbed manner as the demon but eventually, as dawn came, they ran out of time.

With a heartfelt embrace and a memorable kiss, the demon in angel form walked out of his flat, headed in the direction of the bookstore (he had an inkling that all was not as it had been yesterday) and the pair of them waited for morning, or their inevitable doom, whichever came first.

And by the grace of whatever deity happened to be not paying attention, they pulled it off.

A desperately fiendish plan indeed. 


End file.
